Of Textiles and Rebellions
by maknae.roli
Summary: The star-crossed lovers of District 12 sparked a rebellion. This is an alternate tale of the doomed tributes of District 8.
1. Chapter 1

Beautiful valleys. Crisp, clean streams of water, carefully flowing through the forest. Large, tall trees hiding the abundance of animals. It seemed like a place of glory, of beauty.

Truly, it was too bad this was something only read about in books.

Rather than be blessed with the beauty of nature, District 8 was a place riddled with smoke stemming from large factories. Within these factories, various garments were stitched together – some clothes were even for the peacekeepers, who beat them into submission.

How quaint. It had always seemed ironic to him that they created the clothing of their own enemies. They stitched together the fabrics of the Capitol, the bright, perfected fabric only for the citizens of the ruling area.

For the Districts, there was very little, and District 8 was no exception.

Despite creating the clothes for people they would never meet, District 8 had very little clothing. Each person had perhaps two sets of casual clothes, and one special set used only for Reapings or marriages.

Food could be scarce at times, and many people would starve to death during the winter months. No one would aid them; the peacekeepers would merely shrug and turn a cheek, while the other citizens were fending for their own food.

There was no room to care for someone other than yourself.

Ken, age 17, knew better than to hope for help from a Capitol that took relish in watching the lives of children being helplessly cut short. The Hunger Games were required watching for all in their District, and they would all carefully and quietly gather in the town square to watch as their friends, their classmates, their children be mercilessly slaughtered.

The day of the Reaping had come too quickly for Ken. It was only last year when his older sister was sent into the arena, and he momentarily recalled the moment of her death. She had managed to survive several days, but the group of Careers from District 1 and 2 found her.

He shuddered, willing the awful images away. He couldn't think about that, not right now. How he wished that, one year ago, he could have saved his sister.

Now, all he could do was think of her in passing, trying helplessly to purge his mind of the pictures of her cold, lifeless body bleeding onto the soil below.

Ken used his hand to push his hair away from his face. He hadn't cut the hair framing his face since the last victors came tumbling through their District, invading their homes.

Of course, it was a Career tribute from District 2 who came away victorious. He was buff, sturdy, and rather intimidating. Seeing one of the people who had a hand in his sister's death riled him up. Oh, how he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around the man's throat, forcefully making him feel what his sister had to endure.

He never did.

He eventually left his room and wandered into the family room, where his father sat in a chair, looking at the floor somberly. His mother had died shortly after his birth, leaving just him, his father, and his sister to fend for themselves.

Without his sister, his father fell into disarray. Sure, he worked and made sure Ken had everything he could need, but there was no communication.

Not a single uttered word.

Ken hadn't expected today to be any different; if he were to be honest with himself, he would know that today his father would be more likely to stay silent.

He wanted to scream.

However, he swallowed the urge and returned to his room, dressing in his single pair of nice clothes – the pants weren't ripped or coming apart at the seams, and the shirt was slightly heavy for the weather, but he didn't mind much.

The fear of this day would distract him from any heat spurred on by his wardrobe.

He left their home, with no words spoken to his father. At this point, Ken was fairly sure that he couldn't eat either; the nerves were doing their job of eating him.

He feared he would be eaten alive.

Like when watching the Games, the Reaping would take place in the town square. Ken walked towards the square, his eyes downcast. He did not want to speak with anyone at this moment.

When he arrived, peacekeepers had booths set up, where they checked the children of age for the Games in. He knew the routine by now; they would prick his finger, take a little blood, and then he would move into the square, lining up with the other boys his age.

The other boys, who were scared of this abhorrent roulette landing on them.

Ken flinched when the peacekeeper pricked his finger; he was always a coward when it came to pain.

It didn't matter whether it was pain of the physical kind, or the pain of watching his sister slaughtered.

He stood in the square with his classmates, chattering mindlessly, thinking of the atrocity of these Games. He thought of his poor sister, his sweet sister, who died horrendously because the Capitol citizens wanted to punish them. For what purpose? He knew that the Districts rebelled, but that seemed so far in the past; it seemed obsolete.

It was too bad that a country kept such a grudge.

Ken wanted something to change; he wanted a revolt. He desired nothing more than for the Capitol to relinquish the Districts from the strict control of these games.

What a thought; it was too bad nothing of the sort would occur.

A man walked up to the stage created by peacekeepers in the morning. His hair was a putrid pink color, spiking up in all places. His formal suit matched his hair color, with the fabric shining in the light.

"Welcome one and all!" The man's voice was filled with a kind of happiness – something that belied the truth of this awful meeting.

Because of this meeting, one boy and one girl would die.

"It is now time for the 74th annual Hunger Games," he declared, a grin painted upon his face, with his teeth whiter than anything Ken had seen before. "First, however, we have a very special video to watch."

Everyone turned and the usual video discussing the uprising from 74 years ago began to play, the sound emanating throughout the silent square.

Rather than focus on the video, Ken looked onto the makeshift stage. There, sitting with the jubilant man and several town officials, were two victors of the games.

One was a woman named Cecelia; she was a wonderfully kind woman, Ken recalled. She had helped them after his mother's passing, his sister told him.

The other was a man named Wolf, and he was quite old. Ken wondered how he could still be journeying to the Capitol to help the tributes.

That's right. These two victors would be mentoring their tributes while in the Capitol. It had been years since the District had a victor, and he wondered if this created a burden upon their shoulders.

The video faded out, and the pink-clothed man exclaimed, "Now it's time to select one man and woman to represent District 8! We will start with the ladies." He wandered over to a ball filled with slips containing the names of the girls eligible for the Games.

He put his hand into the opening and fished around, grabbing a uniform folded slip. It was taped shut, and the man carefully pried it open, and he walked over to the microphone.

"Claire Phillips."

The sound of shuffling was heard next, and Ken saw her. He remembered her from school several years ago; her mousy blonde hair was pulled back into a bun on the top of her head. She usually looked severe, but now her eyes were widened, and Ken was certain her lower lip was trembling ever so slightly.

She walked out of the box where they kept the girls her age and walked up onto the stage, her moves almost robotic. She did not look up from the ground, even when she arrived at the stage.

"Now for the boys!" The man walked over to the second ball filled with slips, and Ken's stomach tightened. He did not want his name to be called. He did not want his friend's names to be called. He didn't want Claire's name to be called.

He didn't want anyone to go through this horrifying experience.

As the man reached into the opening of the ball, Ken thought of his sister. She must have been so frightened when she heard her name being called, to know that she would likely never make it home.

How he wished he still had his sister there, to comfort him, to laugh with him, to assure him this would be okay.

The man had grabbed a slip and pried it open, returning to his spot in front of the microphone.

"Kenneth Tran."

His breath seemed to catch in his throat.

This was not happening.

There was no way this was happening to him.

He looked around to see his friends, the people surrounding him, backing away, leaving a space for him to walk through to the stage.

It seemed such a long ways away, the place where he would stand so the entire District would know that it was him being sent to the slaughter.

How they would talk, mourn over him and speak of the ill luck of their family, and how his father would be the only family member left.

As he walked towards the stage, he wondered if his father would even survive this. His legs seemed to be made of jelly, and he knew his arms were shaking violently.

No matter how much he could try, he knew he couldn't help it.

He reached the stage, climbing the stairs and holding onto the banister, afraid of falling to the ground in front of not only the District, but all of the others and the Capitol.

Ken stood there on the stage, looking one last time at the citizens of his District, and he looked over at Claire, who had tears pooling in her eyes.

Once more, he thought of his sister.

I guess it won't be long before I'm joining you, huh?


	2. Chapter 2

In what seemed like an alternate world, a stage was a place of glory – where talents would display their skills, where the audience would adore them, and through that one place, become a person of reverence, of idolization.

Perhaps in the Capitol, where they saw this dank stage differently, it was a similar idea. From their cozy homes, where food was plentiful, they watched their large screens as the selections for their favorite event took place. They would instantly pick a favorite, and begin to cheer.

For the Districts, it was something entirely different. Standing upon the stage was simply an extravagant funeral, in which the dead were still living, and it was merely a solemn farewell.

Ken had watched his sister leave his life for good when she left the stage. Now, he would be following in her exact footsteps, walking to the Capitol – and in doing so, towards his death.

His heart rate quickened; Now he knew just what his sister felt at this moment. Fear. Dread. Eternal sadness.

And yet, resignation. How? He knew he did not deserve to be mercilessly killed while the entire world kept their eyes glued to their television screen.

It was a death sentence, and yet, he wasn't overwhelmingly scared.

He looked out at the others in the District, glancing one last time upon the place he called home and the people he called companions. Their faces were downcast, avoiding his glance at all cost.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't see his father.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see the alarmingly pink man's shriveled hand grasping him ever so slightly.

The idea of someone from the Capitol touching him made his skin burn.

"Shake hands, you two," he said happily. How someone could be so happy to send such young hope to death, Ken would never understand.

Ken turned to Claire, who continued to cry. She held out a shaking hand, and he grasped it tightly, trying to assure her somehow through his grip.

They will be okay. Even though they will likely die, they will be all right. He was certain of that.

Several peacekeepers ushered him and Claire into the building behind the stage, and he heard the happy man say, "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

One peacekeeper lead Ken into a room by himself, and all was silent. There were footsteps, but they seemed to be a world away.

He knew what would happen next. The tributes would be visited by family or friends, and they would hurriedly say their final goodbyes, with everything they yearned to stay still lingering on the tips of their tongues when their loved one is yanked away to their death.

Ken recalled this, since it was only last year when his sister left.

Most siblings seemed to argue and squabble with each other, but this was not the case with him and his sister. Seeing her name be pulled from the Reaping ball nearly destroyed him. Once she walked back with her fellow tribute into the building, he lost it.

Once families were allowed to see their loved ones, he ran into the room where his sister was being held. He didn't hesitate; he ran straight into her and embraced her, holding his sister's smaller form tightly.

His sister was much smaller than he was, so for some, this scene may have looked awkward, but Ken didn't care. He held her tightly, and tears had begun to walk their way across his face.

She didn't cry. Instead, she wiped his tears away carefully and said, "I love you, my brother. Stay safe, all right?"

She didn't cry, though she was the one being herded for slaughter.

It seemed to be merely seconds, but the peacekeepers came and dragged Ken away from his sister. The usually strong and stoic Ken was screaming, reaching for his sister, to hug her one last time.

Oh, how he missed his sister.

It was then that he noticed he was placed in the same room as his sister. An eerie chill fell over the room, and the silence felt all the more deafening.

Ken continued to think of his sister, and what he wouldn't give for her to be there with him now, to tell him that it would all be all right.

He knew it never would be though.

The creak of the door slowly opening interrupted his thoughts. Ken turned to see his father carefully walking into the room.

"Dad," Ken gasped quietly. If he were to be honest with himself, he did not expect anyone to come and see him off. His father, who never spoke, was here to see him.

Once more, his father didn't say anything. Rather, he did the same thing that Ken did with his sister – he embraced him.

At first he was rather shocked, and didn't return the embrace. The very idea of his father showing some sort of emotion towards him seemed impossible.

Then, Ken began to hold him tighter. He held the man known as his father tightly for the first time in quite a while.

It was then that he noticed his father was trembling.

"My son," his father breathed, and Ken couldn't help but be surprised. Not only did his father hold him, but now he spoke? It seemed like a dream.

Rather than a dream, perhaps it was some sort of nightmare.

"You are so much stronger than I will ever be, my dear child," he said, his voice quivering slightly. It felt as though Ken couldn't breathe; how could his father be saying something like this?

Though Ken felt that he couldn't speak, he managed to reply, "No, I'm not." His voice cracked, and at that moment, tears once again flowed freely from his eyes.

"You are," his father said, and it was then Ken saw tears in his father's eyes as well. "You're much stronger than your old man here."

"Oh, father," Ken cried. "What are you going to do? There won't be anyone here for you." His father didn't reply, but instead gripped his son tighter, as if refusing to let go.

At that moment, the peacekeepers came in, one saying, "Time's up, you have to leave." Then the peacekeepers took his father and pulled him out of Ken's grasp and towards the door.

Just before the peacekeepers slammed the door shut, his father yelled, "You will always be my beloved son!"

Slam. The loud echo of the door slamming shut thrust Ken into silence, with his father's final words still lingering in his mind.

"You will always be my beloved son."

Had his father always felt this was about Ken, and had he just not noticed it? Oh, how he wanted to burst forth from these oppressive doors and run towards his father, and leave with him, where they could begin their relationship over again.

Instead, Ken was shackled to the room, forcing himself to prepare for his imminent demise, knowing his father would have to watch silently.

Would he watch? Ken thought that perhaps he wouldn't.

Ken couldn't ponder this anymore; the bright-colored man came into his room, the doors slamming into the wall where they were connected, and the loud noise caused Ken to flinch.

"Hello, Kenneth," the man said brightly.

"Ken," he corrected in response. No one would ever call him Kenneth again.

"Well, no need to be all stingy," the man retorted, his face crinkling in some semblance of disgust. "Anyway, nothing to worry about. My name's Vibrance, and I'll be your escort into the Capitol."

Vibrance. How disgusting; did all of the citizens of the Capitol have such strange names?

Ken noticed that Claire was behind the Capitol citizen; she was no longer crying, and seemed to have some sort of resolve in her expression.

"From here, we will head straight into the train, where you will meet your mentors. It's quite exciting isn't it? Now, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to your train."

Ken and Claire silently followed Vibrance, who was mindlessly bantering about the Capitol and how much better it is compared to District 8.

To Ken, it could never be better than his home. At least in District 8, his sister was not slaughtered for the mindless entertainment of the inhabitants of the place.

Rather, in District 8, his sister was sent home in a cardboard coffin.

Vibrance led them out of the building and into the backstreets of District 8, where the train tracks were planted. The citizens of District 8 had always known where the trains would stop, but no one ever went to where they would embark or disembark.

After all, the only reason to go there would be to board the train to death.

There, on the typically barren train tracks, was a metal train. It seemed to be stacked to the brim with advanced technology Ken had never seen before. Did the train float somehow? Ken was certain it looked that way.

Vibrance walked towards the train and knocked on what appeared to be a door. Once. Twice. Three times.

The door slowly opened and a set of heavy stairs tumbled from the opening, allowing for them to walk up into the train. Vibrance confidently walked up the stairs and out of sight, and called, "Now for you two!"

Claire glanced at him, gave him a sad smile, and walked towards the door of the train. Soon it was just Ken left to board the one-way trip to the Capitol.

Once again, his mind wandered to his sister. What was it like for her to walk up these steps, knowing that she wouldn't come back to see her home or her family again?

Was she crying? Ken was certain she wasn't. She didn't cry with him, so she wouldn't cry at this point either. She didn't cry when she was dying either.

He felt like such a coward compared to his sister, who seemed so strong even when facing her absolute demise.

His gaze lingered towards the District, one last time. Sure, it wasn't the most beautiful sight to witness. However, it was the only place he ever knew.

How he would miss it so.

Thinking of his sister and drawing on her strength, his feet carried his body towards the train and he climbed in.


End file.
